


The Friends

by arrowsong



Series: Ghosts That We Knew [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Criminal Minds, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coffee and shooting ranges, F/M, Heart to Hearts, friends with the best of intentions, talking about PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:32:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4652334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowsong/pseuds/arrowsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As she sits waiting for a very important meeting, Charlie runs into an unexpected acquaintance.  Meanwhile Bucky decides to help out a struggling Dr. Reid by taking him out to the shooting range and helping him with his marksmanship for his upcoming firearms licence renewal test.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Friends

Saturdays were always busy. Kids, and teenagers were out of school, most people had the day off from work, and just about everyone had the same idea. Coffee.

Sitting in a corner table of the bustling café; with the largest size coffee cup available in the joint nestled next to a half eaten pumpkin cream cheese muffin; dressed in an emerald green button down shirt, a pair of black dress slacks matched with a pair of black leather ankle boots; pouring over an opened file was Charlie Rhys.  Ordinarily either Reid or Rossi would join her at the café for her usual Saturday morning cup of coffee, but not today. Today was special.  She was meeting someone else for coffee today, and she was more than nervous, at least judging from the way her foot kept twitching. 

Why? She didn’t know. She’d done this dozens of times before, not recently but it never really changed, so why was this any different?  Oh right, it wasn’t so much a question what she was doing that made her nervous, it was who she was meeting and the possible implications it held that had her gnawing furiously at what little finger nails she had left.

After she got his call asking her to meet, she suggested they meet at her favourite coffee house not far from her apartment.  Knowing how busy this place could be on a Saturday, she came early, and she came prepared.

Being in the BAU, and the resident forensic artist for the FBI's Washington field office not to be sourced at the Jeffersonian, there was never any shortage of work for Charlie.  Her apartment was littered with stacks of case files from all around the country, all stuffed with pictures of human remains, or eyewitness accounts and descriptions of a suspect, and all begged for her attention.  Then there were the piles of paperwork that came with her cases for the BAU, reports that needed writing, and accounts that needed filing; it was a miracle she found the time to schedule this meeting in the first place. 

Currently she was looking over the case of a convicted serial killer over in Washington who had a date with the hangman’s noose come Wednesday night. Together, Reid and Charlie would be flying out Sunday night to conduct the deathbed interviews. Forty-three year old Tristan Katz was convicted back in 2001 for the rape and murder of four women between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five with a hammer before disposing of their bodies in back allies of downtown Tacoma, over a two month period. Having barely spoken throughout his trial, it was their job to go and see if Katz had suddenly become any chattier about his crimes in the hours preluding to his death.

So engrossed by the details in Katz’s file, and lost in the endless sea of chatter around her, Charlie nearly missed the familiar voice calling her name. She only noticed someone had come up to her when she caught sight of the chair across from her being pulled out from her peripheral vision.  Looking up from the open file, and her morning muffin, Charlie found a familiar pair of eyes sitting across from her.

“Sam?” she greeted cheerily. “This is a surprise.” Instantly she began to gather up the case documents she had sprawled around the table, inviting him to sit down, and join her.  “What are you doing here? I mean sixty-seven blocks is a little out of your way for a cup of coffee don’t you think?” she added once he’d sat down.

“How do you know my place is sixty-seven blocks from here?” wondered Sam with a friendly smile, only lightly peppered with suspicion.

“Sam,” Charlie gave him a knowing look.  “I’m FBI – I could have your entire personal history, credit rating, plus your dating profile on Plenty of Fish sent to my phone in the time it’d take to finish my muffin.” She motioned to the nearly finished quick bread next to her coffee, where there was little more than crumbs left.

“Fair enough,” nodded Sam with an earnest laugh while wondering who squealed to her about PoF. “I had some business in this part of town and thought I’d stop by for a quick cuppa Joe before heading for home.”  He paused, giving Charlie a quick look over. “You look nice, you meeting someone?”

Shuffling her papers nervously Charlie smiled down at the table, and nodded. “As a matter of fact I am – in about twenty minutes.”

“Really?” Sam didn’t look as surprised as his voice might suggest. In fact, he didn’t look surprised at all; he looked as though he already knew Charlie was fixed to meet someone at noon.  “Good for you,” he added after a second with a wide smile. “Did you want some company, or should I leave you to . . .” he motioned to the file still in Charlie’s hand, “whatever it is you’re working on.”

“Preparation,” Charlie explained, sliding the file back into her bag as it rested on the floor by her feet.  “We fly out for Washington tomorrow to interview a convicted killer before his execution.” Her explanation came out bumpy and awkward, realizing how it must sound to someone not familiar with basic BAU procedures, and who would not immediately grasp the value of such interviews. 

“You guys do that?” wondered Sam, staring at her, face lined with mild concern. He knew they hunted serial killers, bombers etc – made sense.  “What do you get out of that? The guy was already found guilty.”

“We do it with all cases involving serial homicide,” explained Charlie. “We gather the information to expand our databases. This way we can build a better data network for future profile building – and you’d be surprised just how narcissistic these guys can be, especially once they’ve exhausted all appeals.  Once they realize they don’t need the ‘you’ve got the wrong guy’ act anymore, more often than not they can’t wait to tell anyone who will listen what they’ve done. We’re just hoping that his impending death will help loosen our guy’s lips.”

“And you do this for all serial killers?” wondered Sam, suddenly intrigued. “Does this mean you’ll have to when it comes time for your dad . . .” he couldn’t actually bring himself to say the words out loud, not in front of her, but he had been helpless to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

“When it comes time for my father’s execution?” Charlie finished for him with a sly smirk.  “It’s alright Sam, I’m not made of glass.  I’m not going to break just because you brought him up.”  Taking a final sip of her diminishing coffee, Charlie set the empty cup down on the table in front of her, and took a deep breath before offering him a kind, polite smile.  “Technically yes, the BAU will send agents to interview Lewis Rhys in the days or hours prior to his execution.  But it won’t be me.  Most likely, they’ll send Reid and Hotch for the interview.”

When Sam gave her a skeptical quirk of his brow, wondering how on earth she could possibly know who they would send to conduct an interview that wouldn’t be happening for another eleven months Charlie chuckled, and explained. “Spence knows the details of the case best, aside from Dave and myself, and Hotch has the least problem remaining objective.  Whereas I’m his daughter – it’s too personal to risk getting me involved. Dave and I are close, and he was the arresting agent, again there are a lot of personal feelings there, and as for the others . . .”

“They want to have your back,” Sam finished the thoughts she couldn’t quite put into words. 

Reid would struggle, knowing what he did about Charlie, but his advanced IQ and general social awkwardness would help soften the blow compared to if they sent someone like Morgan or Prentiss.

“You gonna be there when it happens?”

“Nope.” Her answer came quickly, a little too quickly to be honest. Without meeting Sam’s curious gaze, she explained. “I haven’t seen my father since the day he was arrested, and I have absolutely no intention of changing that fact. I lost him a long time ago - this just makes it official.”

While Charlie spoke openly about her father, who he was, and what he did, she kept her head down, and there was a quiet sense of finality in her tone indicating that she had taken just about as much of talking about her father as she could for the time being. 

Changing the topic, not that it was a happier one, Sam leaned in. “So you want to talk about what happened Tuesday night, and where you learned to do that?”

“Do what?”

Sam couldn’t tell if the agent opposite of him was playing coy, or if so much had transpired between then and now that she had legitimately forgotten about the scene in Starbucks following Zumba that night, either way he figured he’d jog her memory. “ You saw Bucky was well on his way to PTSDing all over the place, after he heard those guys yakking away in Russian,” he observed, taking a casual sip of his coffee.  “You saw the signs, and you knew exactly what to do when he started slipping, and stopped it from escalating.”  Leaning forward in his seat he spoke quietly so his voice was scarcely louder than a whisper, easily lost amongst the bustle in the active café. “The only way you could have recognized those signs was if you’ve either done counselling for PTSD, or you’ve been in it.”

Sitting back in her seat, Charlie smiled shyly down at her muffin wrapper. “You caught that huh?” she wondered before looking back up at him.

“There’s not too much I miss,” Sam boasted triumphantly. He had wanted to say something to her about it that night, but after everything that happened, or nearly happened, he figured it was best to save his questions for another day. But he knew he recognized the techniques Charlie had used on Bucky that night, and knew there was no way she could have known about them without being taught, or having used them on herself in the past.  And given her family history he was inclined to guess it was the latter rather than the former.

“And here I thought they called you falcon on account of the wings,” she teased lightly, picking at the last few crumbs from her muffin.

“Well, Hawkeye was already taken, so we improvised,” Sam chuckled. “So which is it?” 

Charlie didn’t answer him, not directly.  Instead she looked up from the table with a sad little look behind her wild green, cat like eyes. “Fun fact,” were the first words she said, after finally responding to his question.  Peeling the sleeve off her coffee cup she started tearing it to tiny pieces, something to distract her from Sam’s penetrating gaze as she spoke.  “Did you know that one study found that children placed in Foster Care were 25% more likely to develop PTSD than combat veterans?” She didn’t give Sam a chance to answer before adding, “that number’s not really all that surprising when you consider the fact that same study found that about 1 in 3 children in the system report instances of abuse or neglect, after they get out of the system.  Of course, by that time it's usually too late to do anything about it.”

“You were in the system,” Sam struggled to breathe, the weight of her revelation sent him staggering back into his seat.  He’d never been in the system himself, but he knew others who had; he heard the horror stories of the abuse and neglect that took place in some of those homes.  Riley had been a foster kid, he’d been one of the lucky ones though, had a good family who genuinely cared about him, but that wasn’t always the case.

“Yeah,” Charlie nodded as a dark shadow passed over her face. Her focus remained trained at an empty space on the table between them – she couldn’t stand to see the look of sympathetic pity on Sam’s face. 

“What happened?”

“Same old story,” she shrugged, still tearing away at her coffee sleeve until there was nothing more than a pile of recycled cardboard pieces on the table. Then she set into her coffee cup. “I had no other family, so after my dad was arrested, and confessed, child services came for me.  They quickly realized I couldn’t stay in Scottsborough.”

The people of her hometown were out for blood, in light of her father’s crimes, and Charlie became a prime target for that rage. They couldn’t touch Lewis Rhys so long as he sat in the safety of his prison cell, but they could go after Charlie, and show him the pain of losing a daughter. Everyone involved in her case was in agreement.  It wasn’t safe for her to stay in Scottsborough anymore. 

Turns out her father had made good on his promise after all. She got out of Scottsborough, and it was all thanks to him. 

“So they shipped me off to Georgia with nothing more than a suitcase. Now I dunno if my social worker was stupid, or just plain cruel, but apparently it never occurred to anyone that word of who my dad was might get out of Tennessee, or to give me a new identity.” Her voice caught slightly in her throat as she recalled the day her first foster family realized who she was, and what her father had done. She could still hear the crash of glass shattering as her foster mother threw picture frames, and a vase against the wall by Charlie’s head, screaming for her to get out, and to stay far away from them.  Child services came the next day to take her to a new family elsewhere. It was a pity.  She had actually liked them.

“I changed foster families six times, for one reason or another, in the four months I was in the system.” 

“But someone got you out?” Sam hoped quietly. She was fifteen at the time of her father’s arrest, she should have remained in the system until she was eighteen unless someone came forward to claim her, a distant relative from her mother’s family perhaps?

“Yeah,” Charlie smiled for the first time since she started talking about her experiences in the system, but it wasn’t the happy kind of smile Sam had been hoping for, it was sad, but most of all it was tired.

“Eventually I made my way up to DC, where I ran into one of the agents who worked my dad’s case.  He recognized me, and after he found out what happened, he took me in.”  She paused, smiling down at the table as tears from poignant memories stung her eyes. 

Rossi.

She’d never forget standing in the hall of his downtown apartment, in her dirty, ripped and baggy clothes, holding onto the fluffy towel he’d given her for a shower – it was so soft, softer than anything she’d ever felt before.  After Dave ordered them something for dinner that night he found her standing exactly where he’d left her, sobbing hysterically, too afraid to wipe away her tears in fear of getting his crisp, white towel dirty with her face. Dave held her as she cried, assuring her it was over; it was all over. Everything she had been through was nothing more than a memory now.  He would see to that. That was the night her life changed for the better.

It was Dave who got Charlie the help she needed. He was the one who realized she was suffering from PTSD, not only from what she’d been through living on the streets, but with her father as well.   Weeks after moving into the guest house on his property he got her in to see a therapist, one who specialized in cases like Charlie’s – homeless youths with traumatic pasts.  Even after turning eighteen she continued to live with Dave, but now insisted on paying him rent.  Recalling her love of art in the brief time he’d gotten to know her while working the case, he insisted she could pay him by giving him a new drawing each month.  Too late to go back to school, Charlie got her GED in a year with Dave’s help, and applied to art school right after.  He was so proud the day she got her acceptance letter to Vassar. Both he and Jason were in the crowds the day she got her degree.  That fall she started at the academy.

Everything she had, everything that she was, was a result of that night in Dave’s apartment. 

“Jesus, Charlie,” Sam clapped a hand over his mouth. He didn’t know whether he should be in awe, or horrified by the story he was hearing.  He was caught somewhere in the mix.

“The years following my father’s arrest were turbulent to say the least,” she continued to stare at the growing mountain of ripped up cardboard confetti. “And they definitely left their mark,” she sighed, her gaze reaching Sam’s for the first time in a while. “I still have nightmares, and I avoid Bruce Springsteen like it's the plague,” she confessed, reminding him of the fact that he father used to listen to the Boss when he was with his victims. “I carried a lot of guilt with me for a long time over what _he_ did, there were just so many questions – why didn’t I see the signs? How could I not know what he was doing?  Why didn’t I do anything to stop him?  Everyone else blamed me for what he did, and so did I – after all, you tell a pup it’s a cat long enough, eventually it’ll start meowing.” She wiped away at a few bitter tears.

Everything she described fit into the third category of PTSD – delayed. It was the same kind Sam knew Bucky suffered from.  The kind that could be triggered after being dormant for months on end, usually by an anniversary of the traumatic event, or an event that triggers memories of the trauma. It was the kind of anxiety they would carry with them for the rest of their lives.  Therapy helped, training them to cope with the memories and flashbacks so in the rare occasion their PTSD flared up, they knew how to treat themselves. Obviously it had worked for Charlie.

In the days following that night after Zumba, Sam replayed the events at the Starbucks in his mind over and over again.  Starting from the second Bucky tensed when he heard the men conversing in Russian, to the moment Charlie had him relaxed and his breathing returned to normal.  According to the genius kid that trotted around with her, they were merely discussing the masked vigilante that had been operating in Hell’s Kitchen, back in New York, and how apparently he was giving the mobs a rough time – about time, in Sam’s opinion, but that was besides the point.  But there was something about the way they spoke, and the way they were dressed that had triggered Bucky. He recalled the way she immediately seemed to sense him start slipping before the rest of them clued in. How she got Bucky to concentrate on his breathing before giving him something else to focus on, making him listen to the sound of her voice, and the patience she demonstrated as she slowly brought him out of the dark corners of his memory, and back to reality. 

Now it made sense.  They were the same techniques she had been taught to use on herself when her own PTSD flared up. He couldn’t help but wonder, just how often did she have to use them?

“Why tell me all this? You could have just told me to go to hell.”

“Because,” Charlie shrugged again, “you’ve been there, laying in the sweat soaked sheets, begging for forgiveness from the ghosts you can’t leave behind.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded solemnly. “That was definitely a rough time.”

 _That was this morning,_ Charlie sighed.  Looking at the way Sam was watching her she knew he didn’t quite believe that was the sole reason why she had trusted him with the story she told so precious few – even if it wasn’t the whole story. “I also know both Steve and Sgt. Barnes trust you, and as if that weren’t enough for me, after seeing the way you stood up to Doreah on my behalf I know you won’t go running out to tell the media what I’ve just said.”

“I can see why you’d want to keep those kinds of details to yourself. He really put you through the ringer, huh?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Charlie smiled in agreement.  Personally she would have used a different word to describe her experience.  Hell. That was usually the first word that popped into her mind.  Not that it mattered anymore, that life was far behind her.  She wasn’t the girl on the farm anymore, nor was she that kid in the baggy sweater living on the streets of New Orleans. She wasn’t Pip, or Twitch anymore; now she was Agent Rhys, and the others were just ghosts that she knew.

They both sat in silent contemplation for a minute as the café continued to rush and bustle around them.  Finally Charlie spoke, taking small, hesitant breaths as she dug something out of her bag.  “Why did you want to know about my experience with PTSD?” Setting the plain, black moleskin on the table she took out a pencil and opened it up to a page. Slowly, with light strokes, she dragged the tip of her pencil across the page, emphasizing the lines already on the page.

“Barnes is my friend, and I’m just looking out for him,” explained Sam, sitting a little straighter in his seat.  “I know what PTSD can do to a person, I still run a support group through VA for people trying to deal with it. It’s been a few years now, but a lot of it is still fresh for him.”

Without taking her eyes off her work, Charlie nodded.  “And you wanted to know if my experiences would help Sgt. Barnes with his recovery, or make him worse. Makes sense – after all that’s why people in AA are discouraged from forming relationships for at least a year after starting the program, all they end up doing is replacing one addiction with another.  You're worried he’d be swapping one trauma, one pain, for another.”

Exhaling softly, Sam shook his head. “You’re good,” he whispered to himself. He honestly didn’t know what he expected, talking to someone who lived inside other people’s heads for a living.  “It wasn’t personal,” Sam assured her, reaching across the table, placing a hand on her arm. 

“I know,” she nodded before stopping her sketching, and started twirling the pencil between her fingers. “So, based on the evidence, am I a threat to Sgt. Barnes’s mental well being?”

“No,” replied Sam immediately without a second thought.  “Just the opposite actually.”  He could tell from the way she stopped twirling her pencil, and cocked her head to the side that his answer had taken the agent by surprise.

“Really?” her cheeks flushed slightly as she tried and failed to hide her smile from Sam’s knowing gaze. 

“Yeah,” Sam offered her a broad smile in return.  “I can’t speak for Cap or anything, but I know he sees the way Bucky is whenever he’s around you, how happy he is, and that’s enough for him.  We just want what’s best for the guy.”

“Well, Sgt. Barnes is very lucky to have friends like you.”

Sam showed just how good of a friend he was, by spending the rest of their time regaling her with stories of Bucky.  Most of them had been ones Steve told him from the good ole days, but there were a few personal ones thrown in there too.  He was still somewhat socially awkward in group settings having spent so much time in isolation, but give the guy an iPad and he was set four hours.  One story he knew Charlie would like, given her past, was how Bucky and Steve had been walking home after watching the game at Stark's, and they came across a few goons taking the Mickey out of a homeless guy.  Bucky scared them off with a combination of his murder stare and metal arm, he then proceeded to help the guy back onto his feet and took him out for a hot meal.

"Sgt. Barnes really is some kind of super hero, isn't he?

Chuckling, Sam couldn’t help but notice it was the fifth or sixth time Charlie had referred to Bucky by rank.  “You don’t have to keep doing this Charlie.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“I know you don’t know me or Steve as well as Reid and Garcia, but you guys don’t have to hide around us. It’s cool.  We won’t tell anyone.  I mean I get it – your job is pretty rigid when it comes to the rules, but like I said, we see how you two are around each other, and we want to support that – especially for Barnes’s sake.”

“Okay,” she looked as though he’d sprouted another head. “Thank-you?”

“I’m just saying, if you want to have a cup of coffee with the guy, one on one, then you don’t have to hide it by calling it a meeting, and call him Sgt. Barnes all the time.  We all know how fond you are of _Superman_.”

“Sam, who do you think I’m meeting here?”

Sam stopped his teasing and sat a little straighter.  That was random. Unless. “Who are you meeting here?”

Immediately her eyes darted upwards the second she caught sight of a navy suit moving in behind Sam.  “Agent Coulson,” Charlie greeted looking up at the strange face smiling down at her, “you’re early.” Rising up out of her seat she stepped forward, hand extended to shake with Coulson. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Phil smiled politely as he released the younger agent’s hand before acknowledging Sam’s presence. “Agent Wilson,” he greeted in a strained, albeit polite, manner.  Noticing the proximity, and the friendly way in which Sam and Charlie sat with one another he added, “I was unaware you and Agent Rhys were acquainted.”

“It’s a recent development,” explained Charlie.  “Sam was kind enough to offer to sit and keep me company while I await our meeting.”

“A most generous offer,” Phil nodded in Sam’s direction, thanking him for the courtesy.  “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting Agent Rhys.”

“Not at all,” dismissed Charlie with a wave of her hand.  “I came early.  You have to if you want a half way decent table here on a Saturday.”

“How very pragmatic of you,” observed Phil with a wry smile. His grip on the back of Sam’s chair tightened as he directed his attention back on to the Avenger. “Agent Wilson, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience, would you mind keeping Agent Rhys company a touch while longer while I wait in line for a cup of coffee.”

“It would be my pleasure, Sir,” Sam smiled in her direction.

“Wonderful.” Returning his attention to Charlie he noticed the small mountain of cardboard confetti on the table between them. “Agent Rhys, may I get you a refill on your drink before we get to business?”

“A vanilla latte would be lovely, thank you Agent Coulson,” Charlie smiled politely.  Patiently she waited as Phil made the Sam offer to Sam, who declined, and walked towards the line at the other end of the café. Stepping closer to Sam, bridging the gap between them, she whispered into his ear, “you thought I was here to meet James . . . Sgt. Barnes?” she corrected through gritted teeth.

“Well, after seeing you two on Tuesday, and the fact that you were dressed up, and nervously fidgeting, I just assumed . . .” Sam trailed off but stopped at the look Charlie gave him.

“Sam,” her face softened as her tone did the same, “professionally speaking I can’t see him socially – not unsupervised – until I get his file put to bed.”

“Then what?” inquired Sam with a saucy smirk, “you gonna get him in bed?”

“Would you keep your voice down,” she hissed, looking over to see how Coulson was progressing in the line at the till.  _Thank God Saturdays are so busy._ “I don’t need Agent Coulson thinking there is something going on between me and Sgt. Barnes, and start asking around for second opinions to undermine my work.”

Clapping a hand on her shoulder, Sam assured Charlie he got where she was coming from.  After seeing the way they had been on Tuesday following Zumba, he got why she was fidgeting earlier. “I meant what I said earlier,” he smiled as he whispered back to her. “I got your back on this, Rhys.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The acrid scent of burned discharge powder filled his lungs as he took a deep breath, while the muffled the sounds of ear shattering bang of constant gunfire continued to ring out in the next room.  Leaning his head back against the wall as he sat on the bench outside the shooting stalls, he closed his eyes for a brief second as he felt cool concrete press up against his neck.  He swore he could feel the vibrations of gunfire resonate through the walls and into his body.  It was a calming feeling.  God, he loved the shooting range.

His eyes shot open the second he heard the door on his left open at ten past noon, and Bucky sprang to his feet to greet Spencer.  Flustered, the younger agent babbled out an apology for his tardiness – there had been some kind of delay with the subway.  He’d been kind of surprised when Dr. Reid asked him to join him at the range.  After Charlie revealed that she’d actually gotten the fitness tests struck from both Garcia and Reid’s records, she confessed there was one test he would not be exonerated from – his firearm-licensing renewal test. 

“Relax,” Bucky turned his head, grinning in Reid’s direction, “I wasn’t waiting long.” Felt as though he’d only just sat down when Reid came bursting through the front door.  Truth be told he wouldn’t have minded if the kid had been another ten minutes late, just so he could savour the smell and sounds of the range before going into one of the stalls.  Holding the door open for the genius he pointed him towards stall seven, where’d they’d set up for Spencer to show him what he could do, he’d break down his problem areas from there.

“Thank you again, for agreeing to help with this,” Spence prattled on as thy walked along the back wall.  “I usually come here with JJ or Charlie, but Henry is sick, and Charlie’s stuck in a meeting.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Bucky flashed the genius a pearly white smile. “I like it here.”

“You come here often?” inquired Reid, attempting to make chit chat with the former assassin.

“Not this one in particular,” shrugged Bucky, dropping his bag to the ground once they reached their stall.  He could already feel his body going on to autopilot as he stepped into the stall.  

“You go with Captain Rogers?”

“No,” Bucky replied over his shoulder. “Steve doesn’t like guns.” _Not since the war,_ he added mentally.  His friend had never been particularly fond of them in the first place, but after the war his distaste for them had only grown.  He couldn’t help but think he, and what happened to him, had something to do with that.

“You and Steve have been friends for a long time,” Spencer observed casually pulling out a pair of safety glasses from his satchel.

Stopping where he stood, Bucky gave the agent a curious glance. _Where is this going?_ he wondered before answering, “since childhood.”

“That must be nice,” Reid bobbed his head awkwardly, reminding Bucky of those ridiculous bobble head figures everyone seemed to have become obsessed with in the last couple decades. “To have a friendship last that long that is,” he clarified, not sure if his meaning had been clear.

“What?” mumbled Bucky under his breath, rolling his eyes. When he accepted the offer to come to the range with the guy he wasn’t counting on rehashing his glory days with Steve to the guy.  “Didn’t you have any friends growing up?”

“I was a child prodigy with an IQ of 187, and the only son of a schizophrenic literature professor in a Las Vegas.” Noting the mild hints of surprise on Bucky’s face he forced a smile. “The only friends I had as a kid were the characters in the stories and poems my mom read to me. Charlie’s my oldest friend.” He paused monetarily, genuinely smiling at a fond memory. “Did she ever tell you how we met?”

“Just that it was in the academy,” Bucky shrugged. He never told her how he met Steve.  It would probably come out eventually.

“We were in the same class,” Reid nodded.  “Like everyone else, I knew who she was the moment the instructor called her name during roll call on our first day.” Everyone knew who Charlie Rhys was. Wasn’t just that her father was the infamous Springsteen Strangler, but she was also the adopted protégé of David Rossi, and rumour had it she studied art under the famous Frank Bender. By FBI standards, she was on the same social level as an illegitimate Kennedy. 

“She kept mostly to herself though,” Reid recalled, and just like everyone else, he kept his distance.  From the moment he applied to the academy, and they realized there was no written or psychological test he could not ace, Spencer Reid had been groomed to join the BAU, but at that point Charlie Rhys was the closest he’d ever actually come to a serial killer.  

“We were running Dead man’s alley.  It had been raining that day, and like always, Charlie was one of the first ones back.” It was funny to think about. Her dad kept her so busy after school with activities like baseball, gymnastics, and soccer he’d inadvertently groomed her to be in peak physical condition to join the FBI, and stop people like him. “Anyways,” he forced himself to continue before getting too caught up in the statistical likelihood of Charlie’s situation, “I had tripped over something, and twisted my ankle.”

He remembered being soaked to the bone after getting caught in the downpour, wondering how the hell he was going to make it back when he could hardly walk, and there were no cell phones permitted on the course. Sitting there in the mud and muck, trying to get himself back onto his feet without slipping, he heard a female voice call out, _you need some help there little brother?_ Looking up he saw her, hair plastered to her face, rain racing off her cheeks, and hand out reached for him.  She pulled him up to his feet, and when she realized he couldn’t walk she threw an arm over her shoulder and they hobbled down the course together, getting to know one another in the process. Eventually they made it back, and after that day they spent the rest of their time in the academy joined at the hip. 

“She was the only one who noticed I didn’t return,” explained Reid softly, “and when she did, she ran the entire course a second time in the pouring rain to get me – someone she barely knew.”  It might not have seemed like much, but for Reid it was the first time anyone had ever come back for him since his father walked out when he was ten. And that meant the world to him.

For a brief second the entire range was filled with an eerie silence, as though everything had stopped, for just a second, to listen to Spencer’s story. Bucky’s eager hands had stilled as he listened, heart heavy beneath his breast as he thought of Steve. Sweet, scrawny Steve, who enlisted in the war despite the odds, and defied orders just to rescue him.

Spencer paused, noting the curious look on the other man’s face. He was lost, either in his thoughts, or his emotions, but either way he wasn’t entirely present. “Do you know why she and I are always partnered together in the field?” he finally asked, after giving the former soldier a moment to recover.  When Bucky failed to reply he answered his own question. “It’s because Charlie and I are direct foils of each other.”

It was true. They were almost polar opposites of one another. He grew up in a bustling metropolitan city while she grew up in a town with a population under two thousand; he listened to classical music and preferred the stylings of Beethoven and Mozart to Chopin and Stravinsky, while she grew up worshipping Springsteen and Mellencamp if she wasn’t listening to Brooks & Dunn.  Part of what made Charlie such a great undercover agent was her ability to think on her feet and improvise, he could never do that, he needed things to be well planned and organized; he was books and numbers, she was people. He was word smart, a standard book learner, while Charlie was better with people, she needed to hear things to understand them – it’s why she was the popular choice to take over the psych evals after Gideon left.  She could tell when something was wrong just by a person’s intonation when they said hello – it also meant that it was next to impossible to lie to her. 

He was the brain, and she was the heart.  Together they made a perfect team, something both Hotch and Gideon picked up on just weeks after Charlie joined the team.

“But no matter what, I know she’s got my back, and I’ve got hers.”

Bucky stopped tinkering with his pistol, anything to keep his hands busy as he listened to the Doctor's tale, and set it down on the counter in front of hum. “Dr. Reid,” he turned to face the smaller man. “Is there something you’d like to say?”

Reid’s eyes drifted down towards the gun still in Sgt. Barnes’s hand before darting back up to look him in the eye.  Now was not the time for backing down.  “Yes,” he nodded with a new-found confidence. “Charlie’s my best friend, and for a time she was my only friend.  If you even think about hurting her, in anyway – you will regret it.”

“Are you threatening me?”  He looked the kid over, mouth closed but brows raised. He was the size of a pipe cleaner, then again Steve used to be even smaller – at least Spencer was tall – but something like height never stopped Steve from challenging guys twice his size to fights in the back alley.   

“No,” Reid replied light chuckle and open grin. “I’m just reminding you of a few simple facts. Charlie’s like my sister, and we happen to be part of the same family, a family that also includes Morgan, Rossi, Hotch, JJ, Garcia, and Emily.  And in this family we protect our own - remember that.”

“You really care about her, huh?” Bucky observed after a moment of tense silence passed, with a wry smile.  He had to really care about the girl, if he was willing to try to intimidate him with his scrawny frame. He was taller, but he reminded Bucky of Steve. Pre-serum.

“I love her,” replied Reid with a coltish smile before starign at the ground.  “I mean I’m not in love with her," his head darted up as he started trying to explain. "She’s my sister – minus the shared genetic material,” he explained quickly when he saw the quirk of Bucky’s brow. "I just want what's best for her."

He knew everyone at the office was expecting him and Charlie to get together the same way Morgan and Garcia had.  After all they teased one another, and spent most of their free time together.  They’d often spend their afternoons out in the park, he’d usually be there playing a few rounds of chess while she sat there sketching enjoying a cup of coffee. She was also his go to whenever he wanted to go to the foreign cinema.  Sometimes they’d call Morgan and Garcia to tag along as well, but most of the time it was just the two of them. But he could never see her in that light, he wanted to, and there were times he tried talking himself into liking Charlie as something more than just a friend, but at the end of the day she really was just the sister he never knew he wanted. 

In an attempt to move past their current awkwardness, Spencer loaded the metal clip with the target practice paper and sent the contraption racing to the back of the range.  “Just for the record – I think you’re good for her,” he confessed while unholstering his weapon, and stepping towards the counter.

Looking up from his boots Bucky offered the agent a confused look. It was hard to keep up with this kid; he was all over the place.  One moment he’s attempting to intimidate him, and the next he was complimenting him. He could not get a read off this guy, and he didn't like that. He stayed silent, watching as Reid fired a couple of shots in the target’s direction. Without even taking a look to see where the kid hit the paper he knew, this was going to take some time.

Lowering his gun, and removing his protective glasses, Reid motioned for Bucky to press the button to summon the target so they could see where he hit. Looking over his shoulder, he caught Bucky staring at him, still waiting for some kind of explanation for her previous observation.  “You make her smile,” he shrugged before looking over at the paper target. “How bad is it?” he wondered.

“Let’s just say, we’ve got a lot of work to do,” Bucky chuckled softly before showing Reid the target.  “I take it you don’t fire your weapon often, do you Doc?”

“I usually leave that kind of stuff to JJ, Hotch or Morgan,” Reid confessed with a lopsided grin. 

“Good plan.  But for the sake of argument lets try again.”  After hanging up a fresh target Bucky nudged Spence out of the way and picked up his weapon to show him how it was done.  _One . . . two . . . three,_  he exhaled slowly, focusing on his breath as he steadied his heart, achieving total calm before pulling the trigger in rapid succession, firing six shots – all into the heart.  He didn’t even need to recall the target to know where he’d struck him.  It was all second nature him. Well first nature really, he’d been a weapon first, and a man second for so long it took some time to adjust and try to reverse settings.

“Did you know some studies have found shooting ranges to actually be exceptionally therapeutic for some people with PTSD,” quipped Reid, interrupting Bucky’s internal monologue. “Seems counter intuitive given that the sound of gunfire can be triggering for many veterans, but they find it’s the breath control. It relaxes the central nervous system that then over powers the distressing effects of the trauma. That’s why you like the shooting range so much – not the actual shooting,” he added.

Looking over his shoulder, Bucky stared at the kid. “You don't say?” he wondered with a boyish smile.  “Good to know.” He motioned for Spencer to come over by him, and get into position. Then standing behind him he adjusted his stance, and how he locked his arms. “Now keep both eyes open, and focus where you want the bullets to go.”

 

* * *

 

 

After about an hour or so of practice Reid’s aim improved, slightly. Bucky, as it turned out, was an excellent instructor.  He never lost his patience or raised his voice at the struggling agent. Instead he offered useful pointers and tips where he could, and congratulated Reid on his improvements. Once the smell started to become too much for Reid to handle, they stopped.  As a thank-you, Spencer offered to buy Bucky a cup of coffee, so they climbed into Bucky’s car, and drove back into the city.

Opening the door to the café Spencer suggested, the first face to greet them belonged to none other than Sam. He was sitting at a table by the door pretending to read the paper while listening to a conversation nearby. There was an empty cup of coffee, and a plate with a large piece of tomato and some crumbs on it. His eyes grew wide as he watched the unlikely duo come walking towards him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bucky wondered, “Steve with you?” Immediately he craned his neck, trying to see if he could spot Steve somewhere.

“No man, Cap is having lunch with Romanoff.  I had some business to do in this part of town, thought I’d grab a cup of coffee and a sandwich.”

But Bucky had already stopped listening, he’d already found someone more interesting than Sam, or Steve.  Charlie.  She was sitting just a few tables over, and she was talking to someone.  He couldn’t quite make out who she was talking to, a couple of business men a few tables over stood to shake hands before saying their farewells, were currently obstructing his view.  Her eyes were intense, focused, and she sat straight, poised with her legs crossed at the ankle, and hands folded in her lap. This wasn't a friendly coffee. 

That still didn’t stop the smile from spreading on his face when he caught Charlie look over their way and the way her eyes seemed to spark when she caught sight of him.  The moment was cut short when her associate said something.  Instantly her attention snapped back to him, though she pointed over in their direction, and began to rise from her table, sending a jolt through his system. 

That happy feeling didn’t last long however.  Once the business men finally said their piece to one another and left he saw the person Charlie had been conversing with had been none other than Agent Coulson.  They had been having coffee together, and they were now heading his way.

“Sgt. Barnes,” Charlie greeted him with a neutral expression, but he couldn’t miss the added note of warmth in her voice as she extended her hand, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Agent Rhys,” he smiled broadly at her, taking her hand in his giving it a gentle shake.  It felt odd to be addressing her by title, and to hear her address him by rank, but so long as Coulson was around he knew they had to play strange; though that didn’t stop his touch from lingering just a second longer than a typical hand shake would allow.

“Sgt. Barnes,” Coulson greeted the group with a cordial smile and nod, forcing Bucky to retract his hand from Charlie’s for good.  “You’re ears must be burning.  Agent Rhys and I were just talking about you.”

“Were you?” he tried to keep his pulse steady, forcing an obliging smile to both Coulson and Charlie. “Anything in particular – or just in general?”

“Standard procedure,” Charlie nodded politely, smothering a small smile. “Agent Coulson merely wanted to review the findings in my report, and needed clarification on some of my recommendations.”

“Recommendations?” Bucky’s voice faltered, and the smile fell from his face. _Oh no,_ he swallowed hard several times trying to force another smile in the agents’ direction. Had he failed the evaluation?  He must have.  He’d been so distracted by his attraction to Charlie, over the last week, that he forgot to consider that she might fail him. 

“My job is to assess whether or not you’re fit to return to service, and to make several recommendations to ensure your transition occurs with as much ease as possible.  How to handle rejection should your application be denied, and what precautions to take if you are accepted to decrease chances of your PTSD from being triggered in the field for the first few months.” Charlie paused, scanning his face for any sign of comprehension.  “Sgt. Barnes, we went through this together at the time of your evaluation. Was I not clear?”

“No, you were perfect . . . I mean . . . perfectly clear,” he stumbled awkwardly over the words in his flustered state.”  Everyone stared at him.  Even the socially awkward Dr. Reid was giving him a skeptical look with his arched brows and wide eyes as his pursed lips attempted to smile reassuringly to him. 

“Well I think we’re about done here,” Charlie cut in trying to steer the conversation back on track.  “Did you get everything you needed, Agent Coulson?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Phil smiled warmly at the young woman.  He took a couple steps towards the door before turning back around. “Oh, actually I did have one more question for you,” he snapped his fingers.  “Who’s your favourite character?”

“Pardon?” It was Charlie’s turn to be confused.

“Harry Potter,” Phil clarified.  “I couldn’t help but notice you have the Deathly Hallows symbol on the back of your neck, just below your hairline. I’m a big fan myself.”

Lifting up her piles of long brown hair, Charlie showed Sam and Bucky the tattoo in question, knowing they’d both be wondering after Phil’s comment. It hadn’t started out as a Harry Potter tribute.  It started as a simple triangle she’d gotten it done when she graduated from the academy, and proceeded to add to it over the years.  The Deathly Hallows symbol just happened to be the end result.

“What is that?” wondered Sam, lips moving over the words painted on her skin.

“The triangle is the Latin for Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity – it's the FBI’s creed,” translated Reid. “The straight line in the centre is Protego – which is Latin for I cover, or I protect.  It’s a shield charm used in Harry Potter.  The circle is Expecto Patronum, a powerful defensive charm used to summon a spirit guardian.  It’s roots is also in Latin, and translates to I await a protector.”  Pausing he looked around at the faces of the people surrounding them.  “Yes, I’m a geek,” he admitted softly under his breath.

“No sweetie,” Charlie ruffled his hair.  “I’m a geek.  You’re a nerd.” Sharing a wide grin with Reid she returned her attention to Phil, “and to answer your question, I’d have to say Professor Lupin."

"Really?"

"Not only is Lupin intelligent, hard working, charming, no stranger to mischief, and incredibly loyal to his friends I also happen love the symbolism Rowling uses with his character. She uses his lycanthropy as a metaphor for societies treatment of people living with HIV and AIDS during the 80s and 90s.  But what I like most about Lupin is that he doesn’t allow his condition to change him.  He remains a good person throughout, constantly trying to keep people from harm despite his condition, proving that it’s not what you are but what you do that defines character.”

“Interesting. I would have thought for sure you’d choose Tonks.”

“And why is that?” questioned Charlie. The smile on her face was un-readable.

“Simply because we tend to be drawn to characters we can see ourselves in and the two of you share several obvious similarities. Both of you are involved in law enforcement, and then of course there are the similarities between her ability to change her appearance at will as a result of her metamorphic abilities your past experience as an undercover operative.” He paused for a second before adding, “you look lovely with blonde hair by the way.”

“Thank-you Agent Coulson,” she offered him a polite smile but there was no warmth behind it.  “You make a most compelling argument, however I believe your question was who is my favourite character, not which character do I think I most resemble.”

“True,” Phil nodded and smiled.  “As I said, most of us tend to be drawn to the characters we see ourselves in.”

“Is that why your favourite characters are Mr. & Mrs. Weasley?” she wondered as the others watched on.  Neither Sam nor Bucky knew what the hell was going on – Bucky didn’t even know what the hell a Harry Potter was – but Spencer merely watched on in amusement, poised and ready to help his colleague should she need him.

“Agent Rhys, did you just profile me to determine my favourite Harry Potter character?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Impressed,” he corrected, adjusting his tie.  “I would love to know how you figured it out – most people peg me for a McGonagall fan, but unfortunately I have other matters that need tending to”

“Would you like me to email you with my analysis?”offered Charlie.

“Not necessary,” declined Coulson with a polite smile, and dismissive wave of his hand. “We’ll be in touch Agent Rhys.”

“Allow us to walk you out,” she insisted with a polite nod. 

Together the group exited the café. Coulson peeled off from the group, heading to where he parked his corvette.  Charlie waited until he had driven out of sight before turning to face James and Spence.

“Coffee?” Reid looked back at Charlie, reading the exhaustion on her face.

“Please,” she smiled wearily at him.  Now that her meeting with Coulson was over, she felt as though she could breathe again.  Unfortunately she had also been wound up so tight it meant that her nervous system would be crashing hard, and soon, unless she got some more caffeine in her system.

“Your usual, or did you want a dead eye?”

“Latte is good,” nodded Charlie.  “I’ve already had three – I have a dead eye, and I’ll be vibrating when we get on the plane tomorrow.”

“I was thinking about that,” Reid perked up at the mention of work. “Do you think we should take a walk through the crime scenes before go to interview this guy?”

“Spence the case was fifteen years ago – those crime scenes are not going to be in tact.”

“No, I know that,” argued Reid with a grin. “But I had Garcia do some looking into the locations where the bodies were discovered.  Everything is still standing, businesses still running.”

“So you want to do a walk through of each murder to get into this guy’s head before we meet with him,” Charlie finished the thought, biting the peeled back skin of her thumb’s cuticle.

“Exactly.”

“Alright. I’ll text Penelope, and get her to change our flights, and reservations. When do you want to head out?”

“Tonight – if possible.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Charlie nodded pulling out her phone from its holster case. “Gives us the whole day tomorrow. We should also see if Garcia can track down the original lead investigator on the case – pick his brain a bit while we’re there too.”

“Good thinking,” Reid nodded.  “My treat,” he insisted when he caught Charlie trying to reach for her wallet. “I owe Sgt. Barnes anyways as a thank you for today.” He bowed his head in Bucky’s direction with a smile on his face. “Agent Wilson?” he asked politely, offering the agent a coffee as well.  He was already paying for everyone else.

Figuring he’d give the two lovebirds a moment alone Sam took a step closer to Reid, “I think I’ll just go with you.”

Stopping either Agent from taking another step Charlie called Reid’s name. “Before I forget did you keep your receipt from the range?”

Spence shook his head as he started fumbling for his wallet. “It was already paid by the time I arrived.”

Turning to face James, on her left, Charlie repeated her question. “It’s so we can reimburse you. Technically because it is training we can claim it as a work expense.”

“I think it’s in my car,” he admitted, rocking back onto his heels.

“We’ll meet you guys in a couple minutes,” Charlie nodded in Reid and Sam’s before following James to where he parked his Nissan.

 

* * *

 

 

Once they reached the car, Bucky opened the hatchback, and Charlie sat on the feathered felt.  Quietly she watched as he pulled an the same old duffel bag he’d used at the range towards him, and started rummaging around for the receipt.  Resting her hands on her knees she smiled as she saw the look of intense concentration on his face.  “How bad was it?” she wondered softly.

“I could ask you the same,” he replied, pushing his snub nose revolver out of the way.  Looking over his shoulder, he saw the look of concern on her face.  “It wasn’t so bad,” he admitted.  “They let us keep his best one,” he handed her the folded piece of paper.  There were only three holes in the red zone – he technically needed six to pass his test. The others were scattered all over the place.

“You know, I think this is better than his last test,” she stared at the paper a little longer before looking back up at James.  “Thanks for taking him – it meant a lot to Spencer, he practically worships you and Steve.  You agreeing to take him shooting probably just made his year.”

“Got it.” He fished the crumpled up paper from the duffle bag, and handed it over to Charlie.  “Don't worry about it. It was actually a lot of fun,” he confessed, taking a seat next to her in his open hatchback. “Spencer is an interesting guy, you weren’t kidding when you said he was a genius, plus I got to hear a lot of nice stories about you,” he grinned, nudging her slightly with his shoulder where they sat.

“That’s funny, Sam was telling me stories about you earlier, when I was waiting for Phil to arrive.”

“Oh God,” Bucky groaned hanging his head.  “What did he tell you? Was it the time I ripped the steering wheel out of his car through his windshield? He loves telling that one.”

“No,” Charlie’s eyes grew in disbelief, “all I heard were the tales about what a great guy you are, but I think I would have rather heard that one.”

Sensing that was one story he wasn’t so fond of telling she stopped her grinning and instead changed the subject. “So,” she started hesitantly staring at the ground before looking back at him, “apparently you thought I was perfect, huh?” she teased with a Cheshire grin.

“I meant perfectly clear,” repeated Bucky leaning back, using his arms for support. Seeing the doubtful, albeit amused look staring back at him he cracked into a giant grin. “I really fucked up with that one didn’t I? Do you think he suspects something? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Relax Superman,” she took a deep breath and smiled.  “You’re allowed to have a crush on me. I’m the one who has to keep my feelings in check until this is over.”

“But there are feelings there – right?” he couldn’t keep the vulnerability from his voice as he stared out at the grey skies a head of them.  

Looking behind her Charlie mirrored his movements, and rested on of her hands on top of his lacing their fingers together.  “You tell me,” she whispered, looking back at him.  A second later she added, “still not the sign,” with a coy smile.

“Yeah – I had a feeling.”  His shoulders sagged forward slightly under her touch, and inched closer by her side.  “I can’t wait for all this to be over. Cause I’m really looking forward to taking you out on that date.”

"Soon," she promised leaning over so she rested against him.  It would all be over soon - hopefully.  Toying with a stray strand of hair Charlie, sat forward, and bit down on her lower lip.  “So what exactly does a date with James Buchanan Barnes look like?”

Chuckling, Bucky grinned back at her.  “Well, when I first asked you I thought I’d start small, and just take you for coffee, or if I was feeling really brave, maybe dinner.  But, after seeing the way you moved on Tuesday, now I’m thinking I’d like to take you out dancing.  Not that weird stuff that goes on at the night clubs,” he shuddered, recalling the one ad only time Natasha, and some of the others, took him and Steve to a modern club. “But the kind of dancing we did back in my day.”

“I look forward to it.”

The warmth and sincerity behind Charlie’s smile sent little jolts of excitement rippling through his body. He looked forward to it too, holding her close as they sway in time to the music.  They just had to get to that night, that was the trick. His mood quickly sunk when he caught sight of Sam and Reid carrying their coffees towards them. Charlie noticed them too; at least if the sudden way she pulled her hand away from his was any indication.

A few seconds later Reid was passing her extra sweet vanilla latte to Charlie, and Sam was handing Bucky a drip coffee, black.

“Any word yet from Garcia?” inquired Reid before taking a sip from his paper, to go cup.

“Yep, we’re checked in for the red eye tonight, and our motel reservation has been updated.”

“We should probably get going then.” They needed to sit down and review their individual notes for the file, then compile a joint set and create a profile from there, then cross reference that to Katz’s case file. Not to mention the fact that Reid still needed to pack for the trip.  Now that Charlie wasn’t there to nag him he kept leaving those little tasks to last minute.  He’d meant to pack his bag last night, but he got caught up re-listening to some old Stephen Hawking lectures he had on record.

“Good idea,” Charlie agreed hopping out from the hatchback.  “I need to swing by my place, and grab my go bag – plus I’m gonna need a big ol’ bag of peanut butter M&Ms, and a new book, if I want to survive a five hour flight in coach.”

“Did you want to go to the Lantern, or Carpe Librum?” wondered Reid, digging into his bag for his book list.  Even with his total recall based memory, there was something immensely satisfying about being able to scratch a name off a list.  Right now he was at number 254 of the 1000 books on the list of books he wanted to read before he turned thirty-five list.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Whichever one has the book you’re after,” she chuckled as she fished her car keys out of her bag.  “Come on little brother, I’ll drive.”  Facing the other gave Sam a quick one-armed hug good bye.  “Thanks again for earlier,” she smiled at him, though her eyes wandered over to James.

“Anytime Duracell. Remember what we talked about.”

With a promise that she would, she offered James a small wave good bye. “Sgt. Barnes.” Her head bowed slightly but it still didn’t conceal the smile on her face, causing Reid’s words from the range to run through Bucky’s mind, _you make her smile._

“Agent Rhys,” he returned the nod sporting a matching grin of his own. He looked to Reid and nodded. “Let me know if you ever want some company out on the range, Dr. Reid."

“Def-definitely,” Reid stammered before saying his goodbyes to Sam. 

The instant he and Charlie turned their backs they were right back to business, and started talking details of the file they were working on. Offering Sam a ride home, Bucky climbed into the driver’s seat of his car.

“Thanks for not telling Charlie how we met,” he looked over at his friend. He knew the only reason why Sam took a chance on him was on account of Steve.  After the first impression he made, with the whole trying to kill them thing, he didn’t blame Sam for not trusting him.  He wouldn’t have either.

“Don’t go thanking me just yet.  Let’s wait until you two actually start dating.  Then I can start looking to embarrass you.” Catching the look of humoured ire on Bucky’s face he burst out laughing.  “Come on man, that’s what friends are for.”


End file.
